quiddity
by gryffindormischief
Summary: James Sirius Potter is behaving himself, which Harry would have guessed to be genetically impossible. Perhaps strange things happen around the holidays.


"Gin, he's so quiet."

Ginny nudges the drawer closed and smirks at Harry. "Is that a problem now?"

"I thought he'd run off to Teddy's again," Harry says to her reflection through the mirror, trying and failing to achieve artfully tousled curls.

Abandoning her dressing gown to the half-made bed, Ginny settles at the foot with a creak of springs and begins working her hose over her legs.

Harry loses track of the conversation.

"_Ahem_."

Blinking, Harry pulls his stilled fingers from his hair and straightens his shoulder. And embarrassingly, closes his mouth. "Yes?"

Once she finishes pulling her hose on, Ginny winks and disappears into the closet. "Leave those looks for _after _parents' night, yeah?"

Now, Harry manages to get his mind back on the right train of thought and continues his earlier questioning. "Seriously, when has he ever been this - well behaved."

"He wasn't _three days ago_ when I found him flushing those decorative soaps from your Aunt."

"That was a public service," Harry says with a laugh as he tugs his brogues on, "I think being married to Vernon deadened her sense of smell."

When Ginny slides on her wedges and shoos Harry into the hall, his ears are perked for crashes, bangs, and whatever other mischievous noises that never come. James' bed has been pulled up and his toys are mostly tucked away save his favorite stuffed cow - _Bonky_ \- who's been settled pride of place against his pillows, his walls littered with finger paints created over the course of the school year.

Harry catches Ginny's fingers between his. "I don't care what you say, this is creepy."

"Don't jinx it, Harry James."

The floorboards creak as they wander through the cottage until they finally find James sitting ramrod straight on the couch, his clip on bow tie crooked, and that hereditary Potter cowlick curving up at the back of his head. But otherwise the picture of an unsettlingly well behaved angel.

James rises and smooths his half tucked in shirt with childish hands. "Time?"

"Let's go, mate," Harry says with a grin, shepherding James out to the car while Ginny locks up.

The ride to the primary school is still uncomfortably _quiet_ and Harry's distracted enough that Ginny won't let him drive.

He does get James engaged in enough conversation that it feels safe to say there isn't something _wrong_. By the time they reach the school, lit golden against the dark, star spangled sky, Harry's wondering whether a kindly witch has cast a simple spell on their son. Which is still disturbing but it doesn't seem like anything actually _bad _has happened. James remains his usual upbeat, cheeky self.

Only without the fresh-caught worms from the garden ending up in Harry's boots.

As they wander into the classroom, James grabs each of their hands and drags them from one 'exhibit' to the next, showing off his contributions to each. Until the teacher, Miss Honey, calls the parents' attention and they shuffle to take seats at their childrens' desks.

They get recaps of the year so far, in broad strokes, and an overview of the projects they've just toured, before she passes out little cloud-shaped cards with reminders for their new year one-on-one parent-teacher conferences.

It's all somewhat a blur, until she pulls out a book and James' previously relaxed state in Harry's lap vanishes. He sits up so abruptly that he catches Harry in the chin and nearly sends his glasses flying. "Alright, there?"

He turns to Harry, brown eyes wide, and nods solemnly.

Ginny took in the tableau with mild interest but kept the majority of her attention fixed on Miss Honey who has been explaining the contents of some book about an elf who spies for Santa or something of the like.

James grips Harry's trouser leg as the teacher goes on to explain that the elf is Santa's method of watching out for the children who make the _Nice _list and get what they've asked for.

Glancing at Ginny, Harry suppresses a grin and pulls James a little closer so he can press a kiss on the crown of his head.

During the sweets and punch party after, Ginny and Harry coax James into crunching on a few sugary biscuits and leading them on a more detailed tour until finally he seems at about seventy-five percent normal James energy.

By the time they arrive back home, James is half asleep in Ginny's arms and Harry's carrying everyone's shoes but his own because apparently Weasley shoe wearing hours are strictly limited.

Ginny picks her way back into the cottage and glances at her toes hopefully. "No runs!"

James snuffles tiredly against her neck as Harry slides the locks into place. "Somebody's wiped out."

"Being on best behavior takes a lot out of you," Ginny says. James nods in agreement as the trio make their way to his bedroom.

It's a cozy family affair, getting him washed up, changed and tucked into bed.

Which is when Harry sees the little finger painted elf hanging over the night stand. "So that's him."

James' widened eyes dart toward the picture. "He's tellin' Santa everythin'."

Ginny's smile changes from suppressed laughter to something softer and Harry's finding it quite hard not to de-tuck James for an over the top cuddle to just _squeeze _the cute because really. Unacceptable.

Though Ginny's adorable genes were never in question.

"Well Santa loves you, loves all the kids."

Ginny nods. "So you don't have to not be _you_ \- though the picked up room is a good change."

"So I can still sneak to hit Teddy with snowballs tomorrow?"

Harry smiles. "Sure thing."

"And hide Uncle Ron's readers?"

Ginny grins. "I'd take _away _gifts if you didn't."

James sits up, eyes dangerously mischievous, "And blow bubbles in my - "

"Maybe not that one," Harry soothes, "We can chat about it tomorrow."

Nodding tiredly, James snuggles into his pillow. "Night."

Once the door clicks shut behind them, Ginny's burying her giggles in Harry's chest. "He was going to just _sit _there until Boxing Day?"

"Guess he figured his year has been a bit spotty in the behavior department."

"He did leave the seat up so Marge fell in - multiple times."

"He's got a toilet thing," Harry muses as Ginny leads them back to the bedroom, her dress already half undone, "Is that worrying?"

"No worse than Fred and George's _trash compactor _thing."


End file.
